Off Duty
by Sunset
Summary: Snippets of what life might be like when they’re not working.


Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Alex reached over, clicked off the alarm and rolled onto her stomach. She smiled to herself. She didn't have to get up. She didn't have to do anything. It'd been a long time since she'd had an unplanned day. She and Bobby had managed to make their latest arrest on Friday night, prompting Deakins to let them have Saturday off. She stretched and rolled onto her back, pulled her knees up to her chest, one then the other, and then hopped out of bed. Running a hand through her hair as she walked into the kitchen. Filling the coffee pot up in the sink, she yawed and measured the grounds into the filter. The coffee started to perk and she opened up the refrigerator door. Her shoulders slumped at the sight. A box of baking soda and a carton of milk so old she couldn't remember buying it, were her choices for breakfast. Alex made her way back to her bedroom and slipped into a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and stepped into her sneakers. Back in the kitchen she grabbed the baking soda and milk carton, and dumped them in the trash. Snatching the garbage she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.  
  
Downstairs she tossed the bag into the can at the curb and headed for the corner store. Bins of fruit and vegetables lined the outside of the store. Alex picked out an apple, tossing it into the air and catching it, still feeling good. Inside the store she picked up a carton of orange juice, a box of Ritz crackers and a jar of green olives.  
  
"Good morning, Alex!" came the friendly voice from the behind the counter.  
  
"'Morning, Norman." Alex answered setting her items down.  
  
"Catch any bad guys lately?" Norman asked.  
  
"Yep. Got one last night, as a matter of fact. And have today off as a reward." Alex smiled and handed over a ten.  
  
"Good for you!" Norman was genuinely glad for her. "What'd he do?"  
  
"It was a she, actually." Alex teased, almost laughing at Norman's expression. "She was trying to extort money from her ex-husband."  
  
He handed Alex her change and her bagged groceries, and leaned over the counter "What'd she have on him?" He asked quietly.  
  
This time, Alex did laugh, "I can't tell you that, Norman." She picked up her bag and tucked it into the crook of her arm, and headed for the door.  
  
"Have a good day off, Copper." Norman did his Jimmy Cagney impression.  
  
"Thanks." She called back over her shoulder as she walked out the door.  
  
Back at her apartment, Alex kicked off her shoes by the front door and carried the bag into the kitchen. She pulled out the orange juice and apple, leaving the olives and crackers for later. Grabbing a glass and a mug out of the cabinet, she poured herself both coffee and juice, grabbed her apple and headed for the couch.  
  
Just as she settled in, her phone rang. She rolled her eyes, and hoped it wasn't the station.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Alex?"  
  
"Hi Pops."  
  
"Are you on today?"  
  
"I'm on call, but I'm supposed to have the day off. What cha need?" Alex took the cordless back to the couch and sipped her coffee.  
  
"Just some company, haven't seen you in a while, and your momma is off on one of her bridge club trips."  
  
"Where'd they go?"  
  
"Museum of somethin' or other. Wanna come over and visit with the old man?"  
  
"Sure Pops. I'll be over in a little while."  
  
*****  
  
"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Ron Carver woke up to his twins jumping up and down on the bed. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"  
  
"Ok, ok. I'm up." Ron chuckled at the happiness beaming from the boy's faces.  
  
"Cartoons are on, Daddy! Cartoons are on."  
  
"Ok you two, go sit down at the table for breakfast, Daddy and I will be there in a minute." Teressa Carver leaned on the bedroom doorframe. "Pancakes." She said to urge them.  
  
"Yeah, pancakes!" Both three year olds scrambled down off the bed and ran down the hallway, singing the praises of pancakes and cartoons.  
  
Ron sat up against the headboard. "Good morning." He smiled up at his wife.  
  
In answer, Teressa sauntered to the bed, and sat down on the edge. Ron watched with a smile as his wife leaned in and kissed him. "Mornin'" she said, pulling back. "Stop that," she teased, playfully pushing his hand away.  
  
"Mmmmmoooommmmmmyyyyyy." Two small but loud voices rang down the hallway.  
  
The parents smiled at each other, and Teressa patted Ron on the leg. "Come on."  
  
"Pancakes, pancakes." The twins sang in unison. Both boys tore off a strip of pancake with their fingers. William, the elder by three minutes, dipped his into syrup, thrust half of it into his mouth, and grinned over at his brother. Joseph had forgotten about the syrup, he stopped in mid chew watching William. Looking down at his plate, he swiped a finger through the pool of syrup and stuck it in his mouth. Problem solved.  
  
"Do we have plans for today?" Ron asked his wife as he speared a wedge of pancake.  
  
"Nothing in particular . . ."  
  
"But?"  
  
"Well, I thought it'd be nice to go to the place where they keep the." She paused. "D-I-N-O B-O-N-E-S."  
  
Ron nodded in agreement and took a sip of coffee. "Good idea. Let's make it a surprise."  
  
Both boys stopped chewing and looked from one parent to another. "What s'prise?" asked William.  
  
"Tell us the prize Daddy," begged Joseph.  
  
"Now you've done it." Teressa looked over at Ron, gave him a 'you started it, you handle it' look and put a fork full of food in her mouth.  
  
Ron looked at his boys, their faces still full of wonderment and angst at not knowing the secret. He dug deep into the bag of parental proverbs. "If we told you, then it wouldn't be a surprise." Then he smiled as both boys in unison sighed deeply and went back to their pancakes.  
  
*****  
  
"Damn it." Jimmy Deakins muttered as the screwdriver he was using clanked on the pavement.  
  
On his back underneath his wife's car, he stretched his arms out, blindly feeling for the rebel screwdriver. His finder tips brushed against the metal, and he grabbed it, raising it back up to the engine.  
  
"Can you see what's making the noise?" Claire Deakins voice sounded from above. He looked up, and though the hoses and sprockets, could see his wife's face hovering over him.  
  
"Think so." He turned the screw he was working on two more times, and satisfied it was as tight as he could make it, he scooted out from underneath the car. He stood up, brushing him self off. "If it does it again, take it to the shop."  
  
"Ok." Claire leaned up and gave him a quick kiss. "Thanks honey."  
  
They walked up the stairs to their townhouse together, and he held the door open, letting his wife pass though first.  
  
". . . so I told him that he couldn't do that to her, and he said. . ." Tina, their sixteen year-old daughter was on the phone, in a living room armchair. Her legs hanging over one arm of the chair, her head propped up against the other. Both father and mother smiled to themselves as the passed the living room on the way to the kitchen.  
  
Sitting down at the small table, Jimmy said: "It's good to hear her like that again." Tina's laughter rang down the hallway. At the counter, coffee pot in hand, Claire paused in mid pour at the sound.  
  
"Yes. It is good." She said, resuming the pouring, filling the first and then a second mug. Picking up a cup in each hand she brought them both to the table. Setting one down in front of Jimmy, she took a chair for herself.  
  
"What'd her doctor say yesterday?" He asked, reaching for the sugar and a spoon.  
  
"What we already know. That Tina's doing much better. Dr. Mellancalf seems to think they've finally got the dosage right." Claire sipped her coffee.  
  
"Did she say how long she think the meds will be necessary?"  
  
Claire shrugged. "She might be on it the rest of her life."  
  
Jimmy shook his head. "I just don't understand."  
  
Claire reached over, wrapping her fingers around her husband's hand. "Think of it like diabetes. Tina's brain doesn't produce enough Seratonin. She gets depressed. It's a physical, medical reaction. Just because she's seeing a psychiatrist doesn't mean she's crazy." She paused. "We didn't do anything wrong, Jimmy."  
  
"Yeah," he said hesitantly, "I know."  
  
Claire smiled at her husband, knowing he was beginning to come around. She squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him. He smiled; looking at his coffee, then brought his eyes up to meet his wife's. "I know." He said, more convincingly. Tina's laughter again rang down the hallway.  
  
*****  
  
The smell hit him first, as it always did. The place had the appearance of an extremely large family home, not a hospital, but it sure did smell like one. Bleach, disinfectant and Lysol. Bobby even got a whiff of vomit mixed in. He stepped up to the reception counter, tucked his book under his arm, then pulled the clipboard over to him, signing in. Glancing into the office behind the counter, his gaze met that of a secretary behind a desk. She smiled at him. "Hey Bobby, how've you been?"  
  
"Good, thanks. And you?"  
  
"Same crap, different day." The secretary said, spreading her arms out to her sides, indicating the office and everything in it.  
  
Bobby smiled and dropped the pen back onto the clipboard. He raised a hand to the secretary, in a see you later gesture.  
  
He took his book out from underneath is arm and headed down the hall. Just before he turned the corner, he saw a nurse he knew down the hall, waving at him.  
  
"Hang on a sec' Bobby." She called. He stopped at the intersection of the two halls, watching her as she finished speaking to another nurse, and headed over to him.  
  
"She had a bad night last night." The nurse said as she stopped next to him.  
  
"What happened?" He asked.  
  
"Just the usual." The nurse waved a hand in the air. "She's better now, but she's asleep."  
  
"Ok to go in and sit with her?" He asked.  
  
"Oh, sure. It'd be good for her." She glanced down to the book in his hand. "What'd you bring this time?"  
  
Bobby held the book up, letting her see the cover.  
  
"What language is that?" She asked looking at the cover with amusement.  
  
"French." He answered simply.  
  
She swatted him lightly on his arm with the back of her hand. "You belong in Scotland Yard." She smirked at her own joke and walked away toward the office.  
  
Bobby smiled and shook his head. Once again he told himself he couldn't ask for better people to be taking care of her.  
  
Walking down the hallway, he passed open doors, but didn't glance inside. He already knew what he'd see if he did. He kept his eyes focused on the closed door in the middle of the hall. He paused outside the door, his hand on the knob. He took a deep breath, and walked inside.  
  
This scent of the air in here, he knew better than the hospital odor. The perfume he'd brought her on her last birthday, talcum powder and her own natural scent mixed together.  
  
She was still asleep. The room was quiet. None of the regular hospital room noises. No beeping machines, just the quiet sound of her breaths. He walked over to the edge of the bed and stood, looking down at her. Taking her hand gently, he held it for a few moments, wishing she'd wake up, and at the same time glad she didn't. He released her hand, gingerly setting it back down on top of the sheet. Pulling the chair up closer to the bed, he settled in, crossing his legs and opened his book. 


End file.
